


digging shallow holes

by brawlite



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Choking, Coercion, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, Guilt, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Monsterfucking, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Self-Hatred, Spit As Lube, Unrequited Love, Violence, anyway billy is too repressed to ever admit to wanting what he does, his doppelgänger is kind enough to give it to him anyway, no happy ending, spit, would you fuck a clone of yourself? not if the clone fucks you first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawlite
Summary: Billy's stuck in the Upside Down with the worst person he knows: himself.





	digging shallow holes

**Author's Note:**

> there's nothing of redeeming value here. there is also no steve in this story, except for brief glimpses from billy's thoughts.
> 
> obviously, heed the tags and read at your own discretion.

“It’s kinda sad, don’t you think?”

A pipe drips. It echoes in the empty basement of the warehouse and rings in his ears.

Sound works strangely here. The vines, the ash, the rot and decay -- all of it fucks with with the way shit reverberates, with the way sound travels. Sometimes even the simplest sound is loud, so _loud_, and sometimes even a scream is muffled into nothingness. Eaten up. Devoured.

“Hey, baby, I’m talking to you.”

Another drip. Something scurries in the corner, off to the right. Tiny claws against a dirty concrete ground. A shuffle. A squelch. A muffled, strangled scream of something eating up something else.

“You can’t ignore me forever, you know. I’m all you got.”

His skin crawls at the tone, at the sugary sweetness of it.

It’s so familiar. So stomach-turning. He’s used it a thousand times, a hundred ways.

He knows better.

And yet.

Well.

Billy’s _alone_. He can’t help but turn toward the words, aching for something, for anything.

There’s nothing here but monsters.

There’s nothing here but himself.

“Baby,” his own voice sing-songs at him, echoing in his ears like the constant drip of something that’s not water.

Again, and again. Syrup sweet.

“_What?_” Billy finally snaps, finally looking at himself in the face, trying to bite back the immediate revulsion that comes with that.

It took a while to get used to, at first. When they first found each other. Like a bad trip, looking in the mirror only to see your reflection _move_.

“I said,” his face says back to him, head tilting to the side a little too fast, a little too jerky. “_It’s kinda sad, don’t you think?_”

Billy clenches his teeth. When they click together, when they grind against each other, the sound is deafening.

“_Sure_,” Billy says, because he doesn’t _know_ what this doppelgänger of himself is trying to get at this time, and he doesn’t actually want to know.

It’s all sad as shit, anyway. None of it is any worse than the rest. There’s no real point in _ranking_ it. It’s all fucked.

Billy’s _stuck_ here, empty and alone, in this barren and miserable place. And, after all of it, after everything Billy’s done, after he’s burnt it all to the ground -- it’s fucking karmic, really, that the only person he has left for company is himself.

Or a version of himself, anyway. Something that wears his face, something that knows what it’s like inside his head. Something that _gets _him. Something that _is_ him, at least enough that it chafes.

Sometimes, Billy tells himself that the doppelgänger is different, that it’s darker, that it's more twisted up inside than he is. He tells himself that it’s been poisoned by that _thing_ that created it, that thing that trapped them both here and then _died_. But Billy knows that’s not entirely true. Because he’s burnt out on the inside, too -- hollow and rotten, right down to the very core.

When Billy woke up here after all of it, dazed and out of sorts, he was alone. It took a while for them to find each other. Or, more accurately, for his doppelgänger to find him.

_I’m all you got_, his copy had said. _And I’m bored, which means you must be bored, too_.

It’s not wrong.

_I’m all you got_, his copy had said. _And I’m not taking no for an answer_.

Billy knows it had meant it, too. Because Billy would’ve meant it, would’ve fought for it, if he wanted it that bad. And how could he not? Billy’s never been too good at being alone.

His doppelgänger sits down across from him on the concrete floor. Their knees touch. The copy isn’t warm. It’s not really cold, either. It’s just there, solid and steady, the temperature of the air.

“Don’t you want to know what’s sad?”

“Not really,” Billy says. His mouth tastes like ash.

He wants to punch himself in the face. Either version, honestly. But he knows that fighting his copy isn’t worth the energy; it’s much stronger.

“It goes like this: You wanted him so fuckin’ _bad_, and you never even got to say goodbye. You died with him thinking you’re a monster. You died, and he’ll never even think about you again.”

It throws Billy a little. It’s unexpected, even though he knew something was coming from the copy’s insistent, sugary tone. But then again, the doppelgänger likes to knock Billy off-balance with his own thoughts. By dredging them up so easily from inside himself and using them as grenades thrown without a care. Weaponizing Billy’s mind against itself.

“I’m not dead,” Billy says, instead of trying to refute it. It’s not worth the energy, anyway. Arguing with yourself is a waste of time. Deflection is a way better route.

“You’re practically dead, anyway. All intents and purposes.” Billy watches as his copy runs its fingers through its hair and gathers it up into a bun, tying it off with a scrap of fabric. It’s not how Billy ever wore his hair, too concerned by what Neil would say. The copy doesn’t seem to have the same concerns.

Billy kinda hates how good it looks.

“Don’t you want to talk about it?”

“_No_,” Billy says, feeling pretty damn sure about _that_. “I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”

“What if _I_ want to talk about it?” the doppelgänger says. “I think you were in _love_. That’s kinda tough to get over.” It sounds so ruthlessly nonchalant, so goddamn manipulative in how friendly its tone is.

Moving fast, the doppelgänger gets Billy by the chin, holding him steady. Billy has no choice but to look into his own eyes as a familiar mouth smirks back at him.

The unrelenting grip with rough fingertips is such a stark contrast to its tone that it makes Billy swallow, tipping him even more off-balance.

“Baby, you wanted him so _badly_ you ache with it. He never wanted you, though. That's just so sad. So tragic.” It laughs. “It’s pitiful, really.”

The doppelgänger’s grip hurts. It’s rough. Billy’s fingers are calloused, and so are his copy’s. They snag on the sensitive skin of his jaw, his throat, when they move to grip Billy around his windpipe.

Billy doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to think about any of it. But it’s almost impossible not to think of Steve’s pretty face, his perfect lips and his even more perfect hair. What Billy wouldn’t’ve given to run his fingers through that hair just _once_. And -- _fuck_ \-- Billy would’ve done anything in the world for just one kiss.

“He could never have given you what you need, though. Not someone as fucked up -- as _perverse_ \-- as you. He wasn't _like_ that, you know; he never would've even looked at you twice.” It smiles. “I can give you what you need, though.”

Billy doesn’t _need_ anything, other than out of this fucking place. Out from underneath the shadow of himself. He chokes a little, when those fingers tighten around his throat.

“Aw, baby,” the doppelgänger coos. “You don't even know what you need, do you?”

Billy tears his gaze away and to the side. He grinds his teeth. Doesn’t answer.

“Or is it that you _do_ know, and you're just too stubborn to ask? Too ashamed, maybe?” Billy isn't looking at his own face staring back at him, but he can still see that grin, blinding in his peripheral.

“Get the fuck off me,” Billy says.

“Do you actually want that?” His copy asks. Its grip goes a little bit lighter. It inches a little closer.

Billy swallows. He doesn’t want to think about what he actually wants.

If the doppelgänger were human, Billy would be able to feel the body heat radiating off of him. It’s not, though. But Billy can’t help but lean toward it anyway, regardless of how fucked up it is. He’s _lonely_. There’s no one else here in this place except for a copy of the worst person he knows -- and _still_ that’s preferable to being completely alone, here.

“Yeah, baby, there you go,” the copy says, as Billy presses into the touch of a palm against his cheek. It’s not warm, but it’s solid. It’s the bare minimum of comfort and Billy’ll still take it, eager, like a houseplant leaning toward the sun.

It doesn’t take long for the doppelgänger to let go of Billy’s chin, to start running its fingers through Billy’s hair with its newly freed fingers as it continues to cup Billy’s cheek like a lover. If Billy were smart, he would take this opportunity to pull away. To get some distance. To run.

He’s not smart, though.

He closes his eyes. Lets himself go a little loose.

The touch on his scalp is light, gentle. Billy just focuses on breathing, in and out, trying to ignore the cooing, condescending sounds coming out of the doppelgänger’s mouth. Billy knows those sounds too well, knows just how they sound out of his own lips.

They’re distracting. They’re awful. They’re pretty, molten _lies_.

They go straight to Billy’s gut.

“See, isn’t that nice?” His own voice is at his ear, breath ghosting over his skin, kicking up goosebumps in its wake. “See, baby, I know how to give you just what you need.”

The worst part is that its right. There’s no way that the doppelgänger _doesn’t_ know all of Billy’s deepest, darkest desires. There’s no way Billy can run from his shame, now, when he’s trapped in the depths of hell with it.

Maybe there is an afterlife and Billy is in it, stuck with himself as a captor for all eternity.

There’s a finger drifting over Billy’s mouth. The press of a calloused thumb against his bottom lip, pulling it away from his teeth.

Billy should bite back against the intrusion. Should snap his teeth like the wild animal he is, rabid and hungry for blood.

Instead, he opens his mouth reluctantly and lets himself taste ash and chemicals as that thumb pushes in and down against his tongue.

The doppelgänger coos at him again, fingers smoothing over his scalp as Billy relaxes his mouth and lets the invasion happen. He feels flesh catch against his teeth, feels it push down against his tongue until spit gathers and starts to drip down his chin again.

“So good for me, aren’t you. Just a bitch meant to take it,” the doppelgänger says.

Billy bristles. His chest fills with fire, with acidic shame. He opens his eyes to glare. Closes his mouth a little to press his teeth against the invading knuckle: a warning.

The copy just _laughs_.

“Jesus, that’s cute. Love that you’ve got some bite left in you,” it says. It leans forward and catches Billy’s ear in its teeth. “Quite literally.”

Billy pulls back fast. Grazes that thumb with his teeth and spits at the doppelgänger’s chest.

“Fuck _off_.”

He’s met with a laugh. Met with the copy crowding in close and pressing Billy down onto his back, easy. Its so _strong_. Ten times stronger than Billy. Maybe even twenty. There’s no fighting back.

“You don’t _want_ me to fuck off, though, baby,” the copy says. Then, its snaking a hand between them and grabbing at the crotch of Billy’s jeans. “You wouldn’t be this hard for me if that’s what you really wanted.”

Billy gasps out as those fingers squeeze against his erection, unrelenting. He’s so hard it hurts.

“See, I think you _like_ being called a little bitch,” the copy continues. It rubs at Billy’s dick, gets him panting, gets him squirming for more. “I think you like being someone’s slutty plaything. I think you like being _mine_.”

Billy groans, his hips bucking up.

The doppelgänger laughs, unbuttons Billy’s pants, and works its hand right inside, rough fingertips gripping Billy’s cock to give him a couple pulls. There’s no finesse, but there doesn’t need to be. It feels so raw, so rough, so _good_. It’s dizzying. Electric.

The copy leans down, eyes just as bright blue as Billy’s, and licks a wet stripe across Billy’s mouth. Not a kiss, nothing quite so kind. But it’s intimate in its own way, visceral.

The doppelgänger isn’t gentle when it strips Billy, when it lays him out on dirty concrete. The ground is cold, ashy, wet. But Billy’s burning up with need, with desire, with the stark and overwhelming feeling of loneliness. It’s so much, so addictive -- all he wants is _more_.

“Shh,” the copy says, pressing in overtop Billy once again, caging him in against the ground. It slides two fingers into Billy’s mouth for him to suck at eagerly. Its none too gentle about the intrusion, but that makes Billy all the harder. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna give you everything you need.”

Billy chokes a little when those fingers press too far back. His head spins. His gut goes hot. He arches his hips up and the copy lets Billy grind his dick against a solid, muscular thigh. It even tells Billy he’s doing _good_, that he should let go and take what he _needs_. It makes Billy feel like an animal, stripped down right down to his base desires.

Billy lets his eyes fall shut as the doppelgänger removes its spit-slick fingers from Billy’s mouth. He keeps them closed as those fingers press against the hot center of him, as they push their way inside. Billy is tight -- it’s been so _long_ since he’s done this that he’s out of practice -- but the copy isn’t necessarily gentle like another person would be. Billy doesn’t want it to be. He wants that bite of pain, wants that hurt. He deserves it.

He needs it.

“He couldn’t ever give you this,” the doppelgänger says at Billy’s ear. It props itself up with its elbow and slides its thumb into Billy’s mouth. Billy sucks eagerly at it. Needy. “Yeah, that’s right, just me. I’m the only one who can. Isn’t that right? You’re such a slut for this. For me. Born to fucking take it.”

Two fingers become three. Billy clenches his teeth through the burn of it, through the stretch.

He hates it.

He _loves_ it.

He feels fractured, raw, split open at the seams. An over-ripe fruit, skin broken, dripping rotten sweetness all over the ground.

Billy sucks at the fingers that find his mouth. Lets the copy of himself pry open Billy’s lips with calloused fingertips, lets it spit, gross and wet, right into Billy’s open maw. He lets it drag its tongue over Billy’s lips, breathing hot and heavy into the invasion, gasping as those fingers drive deep into his ass, too, ravaged open from all sides at once

He whines when the doppelgänger pulls back eventually. When those fingers leave him feeling open and empty. But he doesn’t have to wait for long. He’d never leave himself hanging like that, too lost, too broken to cope. Or -- he hopes he wouldn't. He hopes the copy of himself would have at least a hint of that civility.

Billy squeezes his eyes shut even harder when he feels the familiar and unforgiving press of a cock against his hole, wet and slick with only spit. The doppelgänger is a solid line of unforgiving muscle above Billy’s body, pressing down, covering him, caging him in against the ground. There’s no escape.

Not that he’s sure he’d want to.

Right now, he wants nothing more than this. To be filled. To be used.

He wants -- no, he _needs_ \-- the relief.

“So good for me, baby, look at how well you’re taking it.” The copy talks and Billy groans. He tries to ignore that voice, the echo of it in his head. “Yeah, that’s it, open up for me.”

He shudders as the doppelgänger’s thick cock presses in and _in_, filling Billy up, body burning with the press of it. His blood goes fever hot as the copy bottoms out, pressed flush up against Billy’s ass. Only spit eases the way. It hurts. It’s not enough. It’s perfect, too.

He tries to breathe through the invasion, through the pain. It’s not hard to focus on the pleasure if he wants to, though, to focus on the heavy breath against his neck. He digs his fingers into the damp cotton that stretches over the hard plane of the copy’s back, grip so tight that his nails dig straight into flesh. Billy’s hold goes more desperate as those hips start to rock, gentle at first. Almost teasing.

It’s so much. It makes Billy’s head spin. Makes reality go a little fuzzy around the edges.

It makes him want, makes him yearn.

“Oh, that's perfect,” Billy hears. His eyes are still closed, he can't bear to open them. Not yet, not right now. “Look at you. Only ever good when there's a dick inside you, huh?”

Billy chokes out a breath. He's so full. It feels so _good_.

If he keeps his eyes closed he can pretend he's not here. Not in this place, not with that thing.

Like, maybe he can even pretend he's with someone like Harrington. Those perfect eyes, that silky soft hair.

“You gonna look at me, baby?”

Billy jerks his head in a “_no_,” eyes pressed so tightly closed as his doppelgänger fucks into him with a jerk of its hips, hard enough that Billy's back drags against the broken, rotting ground.

“I'm going to all this effort, and you won't even look at me?”

There are fingers on his jaw, a thumb pressing at his lips. Billy opens them, lets that thumb slide inside his mouth and press down on his tongue.

“So _good_ for me, look at that. You just love being used, don't you?” The voice echoes in his head, bouncing off all the empty spaces, dragging against the pleasure of being filled up and split open. “So good as long as you got something inside you, huh?”

Billy grunts. The thumb presses in. He gags.

Spit drips down his jaw. It goes cold so fast.

He's so full up. He doesn't even have to be touched and his dick is dripping, leaving little lines of precome across his stomach, cock bouncing with each thrust. It's so much, too much. He can't think straight.

Billy gurgles. Chokes around the thumb. On his own spit. The doppelgänger takes pity for a moment and frees Billy of it. Lets him sputter and groan. Fucks him harder, so he doesn't even have a chance to swallow. Then, there's more fingers pressing in. Curling. Filling his mouth up with almost a fist.

“There we go, that's better, isn't it?”

He feels depraved. Absolutely consumed. Loves it, sickeningly. There's no use in hiding, not here, not with _himself_. He can't hide the way he feels, the way his body catches on fire when the doppelgänger hits that sweet spot inside him. He chokes around a wet moan, voice fucked and strange from the fingers in his mouth.

He sounds like a whore. Useless and being used.

“Open your eyes for me, baby,” the voice says. Sing-songy. Too sugary sweet. “Want you only thinking about me, now. No one else could give you this.”

It feels so good. Billy pants, gasps, groans.

“No one else can make you feel this good. No one can give you what you want like I can.”

The doppelgänger slides the fingers out of his mouth. Slaps Billy with a wet hand. It takes a moment to truly sting. A delayed reaction.

Billy cracks his eyes open. His vision swims, dizzy.

“There we go,” his own face says down at him. “Hi, handsome.”

Billy grunts. The cock slams into him and then stays there, grinding deep. Billy arches up, wanting less, wanting _more_. He squirms as the doppelgänger’s dick presses in, splitting him wide.

“Nothing to say to me?”

Fingers, on his face. Combing though his hair. The thrusts start again, but slower, now. Each one is intense. Perfectly placed, perfectly timed. Each drive in is blissful agony. Billy can't stand it. He never wants it to end.

Billy shakes his head.

“Come on, baby. You aren’t even gonna ask for more? You telling me you _don’t_ want to come on my dick?”

He gasps, groans, whines when the cock fills him up and doesn’t move. His own dick, neglected and twitching, drips against his stomach. He arches his hips up, grinding against the invasion inside him, trying to get _more_. Even wrapping his legs around the doppelgänger isn’t enough. Of course it isn’t. The copy pins Billy in place, holds him still from all his squirming, and laughs.

“Ask me, baby, it’s not that hard. A whore like you can do that much, can’t you?”

“Please,” Billy says, too far gone to bite back anything now. He wants it too bad. He _needs_ it.

“That’s better.” It licks a stripe up Billy’s throat. “Now, who’s the only one who can give you this?”

Billy grunts. The doppelgänger rocks its hips once. Too gentle. Billy moans.

“You,” Billy breathes out, desperate, broken, raw. “_Please_.”

“That’s it, yeah. I’m the only one who can give you what you want. Say it.”

Billy thinks of Steve. Of big brown eyes that barely ever looked at him. Of perfect hair that Billy never got to work his fingers into, to find out if it was as soft as it looked. Of lips he never got to lick his way into. He thinks of all the times he elbowed and shoved his way past Steve, just to have the excuse of brushing their bodies together, just to feel the sinful heat of skin against skin.

There’s a hand around Billy’s throat, pressing up against his windpipe. When Billy tries to take a breath, it’s difficult. It makes his head spin.

He thinks of Steve.

He thinks of how much he ached, how painfully he yearned. He thinks of always _looking_, always wanting -- and never ever getting anything in return.

He blinks up at bright blue eyes instead of brown, vision swimming. He breathes out a whine. Instead of a kiss, he gets a laugh. He gets a sloppy lick of his lips with a too-wet tongue.

He thinks of all the sick shit Steve would never be able to give him. All the wicked, awful things Billy wants, that Billy needs. He thinks of all the ways he’s going to hell, and all the ways he’s already there.

He thinks of just how much he’s enjoying himself, right here, right now. He shudders.

“Say it.”

“You,” Billy breathes out. His voice is raspy, but the copy finally gives him space to breathe, letting up on the press against his throat now that Billy’s talking and giving it what it wants. “You’re the only one. The only one who can give me what I want.”

“Shit,” the doppelgänger says, voice low and breathy. Its voice is heady with lust, feral with a burning, desperate desire that Billy feels echoed deep within himself, too.

There’s a hand on his dick. The doppelgänger’s thrusts pick up back up to a punishing pace.

It leans down, not exactly _kissing_ Billy, but breathing in his air, letting Billy pant messily into the wetness of its mouth.

It’s gross, it’s intimate. It’s perfect.

All it takes to push Billy over the edge is that tongue dipping back into his mouth, feeling so big that it nearly chokes him. He sucks at it, chokes on spit and a moan, and feels his orgasm hit him like a punch to the gut.

The strength of it knocks his head back against the dirty ground, has him gasping out loudly into the empty quiet of the room.

The doppelgänger fucks him through it, finishing deep inside Billy with a few jerks of its hips as Billy’s coming down from it, oversensitive and panting. It doesn’t kiss Billy’s skin afterwards, but it sucks a red mark against the side of Billy’s neck. It tells him how _good_ he is.

Billy shivers with it, leaning into the touch and the praise, even though he knows both are just pretty lies.

Even lies feel can good sometimes, though. Even lies can make you feel better.

He stares up at the dirty, vine-covered ceiling, vision blurring until he sees nothing at all.

He doesn’t really remember cleaning himself up, doesn’t remember putting his clothes back on. Both of those things happen, anyway.

The doppelgänger helps him to his feet. Stands next to him. It’s just like looking in a mirror, except his reflection’s lips are curled into a smile and its hair is still up in a messy bun, a few strands of it falling attractively into its face. Even here, in the darkness of this god-forsaken place, its eyes are bright. It looks happy. Pleased with itself. Billy wonder’s what kind of emotion is stretched across his own face. If he looks tired, if he looks content, if he looks real at all.

Billy wobbles on his feet.

Strong arms catch him. Fingers card through his hair. He breaths against a steady, firm shoulder and lets himself bunch his fingers into the dirty cotton of his copy’s shirt. He feels supported. Maybe even a little safe. No one has ever really _held_ him before. Not since he was a kid, anyway.

The doppelgänger traces circles over Billy’s back. Holds his weight. Tells him he’s good.

He relaxes into it. Lets himself close his eyes and steady himself for just a few more breaths. He’s not sure what’s better -- the sex, or the embrace. He doesn’t want to think about that too much.

More centered, head less cloudy with ash and loneliness, he pushes himself back. Lets it all fall aside.

He stands tall and strong, the way he was always taught to. It’s easy, now. Part of who he is. Woven into the fabric of him, interlaced with all of depravity at his heart and all of the anger that boils just below the surface. He can lean on it, on himself. On pretending he’s fine, until he is.

It’s easier, now that there’s two of him.

“Do you think if we walked far enough, we could make it to California?” Billy asks. His voice is still rough, but he knows it’ll pass just like everything else.

He’s met with a familiar shrug. Nonchalant. Detached. Perfect in practice. Like looking in a mirror. Like his copy wasn’t just supporting his weight only moments ago.

“Might as well find out,” the doppelgänger says. “Think there’s an ocean there?”

Billy thinks of beaches. Of winds, and waves. Of pressing the copy of himself down onto the sand, straddling those hips and pinning it down. He thinks of wide open skies, the way their sounds would echo together, the way they’d get eaten up by the ashen air before they cascaded into one broken melody.

He thinks of not being alone, just somewhere else.

“Maybe,” Billy says.

He’s got nothing left to lose.

**Author's Note:**

> happy monsterfucking month
> 
> title from _monster_ by starset. a stellar monster!billy fic
> 
> as always: [twitter](https://twitter.com/brawlite) or [tumblr](http://brawlite.tumblr.com), if you are so inclined.


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